


A Walking Shadow

by roxie_hart



Series: Oh, Thanks But I Didn't Ask For It (But I Wanted To) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Eventual Smut, F/M, Help, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Maybe - Freeform, Messing Things Up In The MCU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sass, Wow, most likely, perhaps, this got dark quick, what even
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-16 11:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14163969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxie_hart/pseuds/roxie_hart
Summary: Ann Carver was just an engineer, a glorified mechanic, curse SHIELD and their... whatever that had caused this to happen to her.She just didn’t have enough energy/working brain cells to worry over her sometimes (always) idiotic life choices. She didn’t want to say she dreaded it, she was just reacting in the way normal human beings did in the case of inviting a man with a metal arm and a gun into her apartment and saying to them, ‘make yourself at home.’Yeah, she really was itching to open the bottles of scotch and pretend the last 12 hours hadn’t just happened.Rated teen and up for language and, sort of, graphic violence.





	1. Told By An Idiot

_ Why the fuck does everything I work on explode? _ That was the only question running in Ann’s mind as she dodged yet another flaming piece of machinery, 5 years of her life’s work going up in the air only to start to crash and burn as the 3 helicarriers attacked each other with all they had.

 

She was knocked off the birdwalk and into the glass dome, watching in horror as the piece of metal that had hit her also had pinned down someone else. She cursed Fury and all his might and heaved herself up, stumbling every few steps as the helicarrier lurched from side to side. Another man appeared beside her, bleeding from bullets wounds around his body.

 

“Ma’am it’s not safe!” he yelled, gripping her arm as she moved to the pinned man. 

 

“Yeah, and 15 minutes can save you 15 percent or more on car insurance!” Ann yelled back, landing heavily on her knees as she started to try to lift the metal beam up. The pinned man looked at her, his eyes wide in fear as he tried to get out from underneath the beam.

 

It seemed like for a second everything went quiet except the pants and grunts of the three people, trying in vain to unpin the man. The beam started to groan and lift up, Ann knowing this was going to make her back ache tomorrow, if she lived. The man moved quickly, the black uniform he wore appearing as he wiggled out from under it.

 

As soon as he was clear, Ann let go of the beam, the other man having the same idea. She panted, her hands leaning on her knees, “well, that’s enough cardio for this week.” 

 

The man in blue with the shield panted, “you know me.”

 

A flashed of metal passed by Ann’s head, a clash of metal heard a split second later. “No, I don't!” the dark-haired man cried. 

 

They fell apart as the helicarrier shuddered, and the shield man tried again, “Bucky.” the metal-armed man looks confused as he continues, “it’s me, Steve. You've known me your whole life.”

 

‘Bucky’ cried out, his arm flinging itself towards ‘Steve’ as Ann watched frozen in horror, Steve choose not to fight back, talking instead, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” another hit from Bucky.

  
“Shut up!” he yells, his eyes filling with water, either from the ash and chemicals in the air or something else. Steve takes off his mask and drops his shield out of the Helicarrier.

  
“I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend.” Bucky pushes Steve to the ground. Ann rushes to pull Bucky off of him but Steve froze her with a pleading look and a hand gesturing to stop.

  
“You're my mission.” he mercilessly punches Steve across the face again and again, “You're my mission!” his face was a bloody pulp when he finally stopped for a second.   
  


“Then finish it.” Bucky hesitates, holding his fist up, “‘Cause I'm with you to the end of the line.” 

 

Time slows as the Helicarrier crashes into the building, the plate of glass underneath Steve and Ann falling away into the river, debris following them. 

 

Ann spit out river water as her head broke the surface of the water. She was rusty about swimming, the current dragging her more than she cared to admit. She landed on the bank, sopping wet and covered in soot, ash and blood. She pulled herself up to run to the two men as Bucky appeared, dragging the half dead Steve with him. “Oh, thank God.” she gasped as she felt the man’s pulse, weak but there.

 

Bucky started to walk away, but Ann grabbed his hand, the metal one, and he stopped, “go that way for 4 blocks then turn left, apartment 5c, keys on the top of the door frame.” She pointed to the right of her, and Bucky stared at her, searching her face for hidden malice, “It’s safe, I promise.”

 

He didn’t say anything just turned to the direction she pointed, and Ann thought there was 50/50 chance he would do what she said and go to her apartment.

 

She turned back to the mess of ‘Steve’ and fumbled for her phone, grateful for her Lifeproof case, and called 911. The person answered after a few rings, no doubt they were being flooded with calls right now. “911, how may I help you?” the man sounded slightly breathless, most likely just got off the phone with someone else.

 

“There’s a man on the side of the Potomac River, he’s been shot.” Ann gives the location, and then ends the call. She drags Steve to the edge of the road, which was harder than it looked, she kept on falling down in the slippery bank and Steve would slip down so she would have to keep starting over. The ambulance arrives moderately fast considering the destruction all around the city and takes Steve away, leaving her covered in mud by the river. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


She was just an engineer, a glorified mechanic, fucking SHIELD and their...  _ whatever _ that caused this to happen to her.

 

She slowly made her way back to her apartment, remembering the metal-armed guy that may or may not be there. Her landlord looks at her disdainfully as she passed him, and she shrugged, the old geezer hated her guts but loved her money, the only reason why she hadn’t been kicked out of her apartment.

 

The second the door opened she was yanked in by a metal arm, and greeted by a gun.  _ Where the fuck did he get that _ , he didn’t have it by the river, or did he, Ann had been a little distracted by the flaming wreck that was crashing in the sky. “Hi.” she said as she closed the door with her foot.

 

Bucky didn’t say anything, slowly lowering the gun and let go of her, though the grip on the gun didn’t budge. He tensed when Ann moved closer to him, so Ann decided that hugging the wall and skirting around the man would be the best option for both parties involved. She walked slowly into her room, dead set on changing her clothes. 

 

She heard creaking of the floorboards, the only evidence that she had been followed into the room. She shrugged out of her shirt, pulling out a clean one to swap it with, glancing at the tall, dark and scary that was staring at her from the corner of the room. “You going stalker on me?”

 

No response, not that Ann expected any, she glanced at his flesh arm, still cradled against his chest. She changed into shorts, and headed into the other room, still wary of the man in the corner. She squatted, opening a cabinet in search of her first aid kit she had gotten from the red cross years ago. 

 

Some more creaking, Ann, like the human being she was started getting peeved at the man at lowkey being a walking shadow. 

 

“Here.” She offered the red bag to the man, shaking it in her hand when he didn’t reach out.

 

He glanced at his metal arm, frowning when it didn’t release the gun he still held.  _ Malfunction _ ? She thought, setting the first aid kit on the counter, before opening another cabinet, pulling out a mechanic's kit. She moved closer to the man, who tensed, the gun now aimed at her again. 

 

“I’m just going to help.” She said, her free hand raising in a sign of submission. He slowly lowered the gun, still tense, and she stepped forward, setting the tool kit beside the other kit, before pulling a stool from under the counter, gesturing for him to sit.   
  


He did so after a second, not even taking his eyes off her. She pulled another out afterward, sitting on it. She opened the kit and he tensed again, Ann moving it so he could look inside, he glanced at it, but seeing no gun he resumed to stare at her.

 

“Can I see your arm?” he shifted, the arm stubbornly not wanting to move closer to her. 

 

She took that as an invitation, lifting the surprisingly heavy arm onto the table, studied it, before picking up a tool and prying a plate away, revealing tangled wires and circuits. 

 

She frowned, some of the wires were just there, when they did repairs, they did it fast, replacing the wires without taking it out. She fished around, pulling out a pilers, and slowly pulling out the useless wires. Despite trying hard, she shifted uncomfortably under his unwavering gaze. She replaced the metal strip, it snapping in place with a satisfying  _ click _ .

 

Ann moved to the hand, it now holding the gun limply, and pried 3 pieces off of the top of his palm, showcasing burnt wires and fuses. She frowned, some of the pieces looked old school; they probably didn’t make those parts anymore. She took out the unsavable parts and rummaged through her loose parts she kept in the bottom of the kit. She made a quick fix, the parts should hold out for a while, at least until she could find adequate replacements. 

 

She replaced the plates of metal, wryly thinking how much it was like a puzzle, both the man and the arm.  _ A riddle wrapped inside an enigma wrapped inside a taco… _

 

Ann lets go of his metal hand, the man attached getting the picture and wiggles his fingers but otherwise remains a statue. He grips the gun once more, though more loosely now.

 

Ann moved the kit out of the way, and gestured to his injured arm, “ya want some help with that?”

 

He slowly, hesitantly, let go of the gun, reaching up for the zipper of his uniform, shrugging out of it, leaving him in his soaked undershirt and black pants. She moved to the other side of him, dragging the first aid kit with her and held out her arms, beckoning him to show Ann his arm. He did so after stiffening, and she held her breath as she unzipped the red bulging bag.

 

She sucked in a breath when she took in the long, angry red gash along his shoulder, ripping open cleaning swabs and fixing the caked blood away. She reached for gauze, once she had cleaned it the best she could, and wrapping his shoulder. Ann fastened it under his shirt, wrapping it once under his other arm.

 

“There.” she said after the final knot. She decided to pretend that this was normal like it happened everyday and threw away the trash and junk metal before opening an upper cabinet and pulling out two glasses. “Thirsty?” 

 

She was met with no response, the man in question staring almost  _ through _ her. “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” she filled the cups with ice, then water, sliding one cup across the counter where the man stopped it with his hand.

 

She nearly chugged her drink, the adrenaline having left her shaking and feeling exhausted. She glanced at Bucky, “so what should I called you?”

 

He blinked, and she sighed, “I can’t just call you Metal-arm guy, or Creepy Death Shadow guy, so what?”

 

She turned to refill her glass, and nearly dropped her glass when he finally spoke. “James.” 

 

His voice was hoarse, either from yelling or from disuse, Ann couldn’t guess. When she turned, he was sipping the cup of water, “Ok,  _ James _ , what do you want for dinner?”

 

“Dinner?” James parroted back at her, blinking again.

 

“Yeah, ya know, food that we eat after the day, before going to sleep?” 

 

He blinked again, his go to response, it seemed. 

 

Ann sighed, “I’m Ann, by the way.” She turned to get a pot, having decided spaghetti was going to be eaten.

 

She brought the water up to a boil, fishing around for an container of dried spaghetti above her head. She started on the sauce, adding salt when she tasted it. She was not, in no stretch of the imagination, a good cook, but she was decent at sauces and spaghetti.

 

Ann grabbed a plate and gave a heaping serving for James. She placed it in front of him with a fork and a napkin beside it. She served herself, turning back to see James stare at the food. She watched him before realizing what was wrong, rolling her eyes at James.

 

“Oh, for the love of God.” She grabbed her fork and twirled it around the spaghetti on his plate, before sticking it in her mouth, making a show of chewing and swallowing it. He slowly picked his fork and brought the food up to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste it. His eyes widened just a fraction, before he swallowed his bite, whole.

 

She turned her attention to her own meal, eating slower than James but with far more dignity. He finished his plate as she hit the halfway point on her own meal, and she sighed, picking out his plate to give him some more, any plans of leftovers completely wiped from reality.

 

She placed it in front of him, he already picking up his fork as she sat down again. She finished her meal soon after he did to his second helping. 

 

“Hungry much?” she quirked an eyebrow at him as she picked up both plates, turning once again to rinse them.

 

Any response he was going to make was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, a _click_ of the gun the next sound she heard.


	2. Spaghetti and Scotch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She slowly pulled out her keys, taking every possible extra second before having to see James again. Of course, fate, having decided that they hated Ann Cara Carver with a passion, sped things up a bit, the door opening so fast, Ann found herself face-planting into a 6 foot tall wall of pure muscle.

“James, NO!”

 

He stopped, looking confused as Ann barreled forward and forced the gun out of his hand (the only reason she was able was because of his confusion). He watched, even more confused, when she took out the clip and bullets and then handed the gun back to him.

 

Ann let out a breath, then crossed her small living room to open the door, making sure that James wasn’t seen from the opening.

 

“Hey Jess.”

 

“Yeah, do you have any alcohol? I ran out.” Her neighbor was slumped over, her eyes barely opening to ackenoage the door opening.

 

“No, I gave it to you last week. And the week before that.”

 

“Oh, you didn’t restock?”

 

Ann squinted at Jess. “Did you expect me to?”

 

“Kinda.”

 

Ann paused, Jess’ bluntness always took a second to adjust to. “I’ll run down to the store to get some for you. I have to go anyways.” 

 

Jess gave a weak smile, before slowly turning to head to her apartment. Ann closed the door, whirling around to be faced with James.

 

He pointed at her hands, and she looked down to see she was still holding the clip and bullet. 

 

“Right, sorry, Jess and you… that’s a cocktail party no one wants to go to.” Ann handed the bullets back to James, wiping her sweaty palms on her sweat pants. Jess might be an alcoholic and drunk 90 percent of the time but she could pack a punch and there was no doubt James could as well.

 

Yes, she was being an enabler but anyone in her place would be as well, Jess with her tragic backstory and her hurt puppy-dog eyes could bring anyone to their knees. So sue her, she couldn’t be blamed.

 

Ann sighed, her hand pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, I need to go to the store, please don’t kill anyone slash thing.” she grabbed her purse, which she had forgotten to take to work that day. Otherwise it would have been floating around somewhere at the bottom of the river right about now.

 

She paused at the door, turning back to stare at the dark looming man and she bit her lip, “make yourself at home.” she walked out before he could respond, which the chances of that were small at best. Her hair was looking, and feeling, terrible and she put it up in a half-hearted floppy bun as she walked down the stairs, the elevator having broken months before.

 

She didn’t have a car and her bicycle was now under a building’s worth of concrete and metal so she walked, ignoring the pointed looks of the people she walked past, she didn’t shower and it showed.

 

She got to the store quickly enough, got three bottles of scotch, one for Jess and two for her, (okay, Ann had a bad day, she needed it, don’t judge her) and some groceries, there was a sale on plums and she got some as well. She knew that she was stress binge shopping but didn’t make the effort to stop.

 

She passed the movie section then stopped, there was a new documentary on the Howling Commandos that was in the 5 dollar bin and, yes, on impulse, snagged it. She briefly pondered how she was going to be able to carry all of the stuff in her shopping cart then shrugged, she just didn’t have enough energy/working brain cells to worry over her  always sometimes idiotic life choices.

 

The man bagging her stuff, arched an eyebrow at her, but didn’t comment on her appearance and/or her shopping choices. That man needed a raise, she looked at his nametag,  _ Steve _ needed a raise. She offered a weak smile as he handed her the bags, 7 bags in total. It wasn’t that bad, after all, she once single-handedly go to a store and stole all the plastic bags, but she had been a little more than drunk at the time, and it had been nearly 1 o’clock in the morning. She still found the bags in random places over her apartment.

 

She walked back slowly, not quite ready to face James again, she didn’t want to say she  _ dreaded _ it, she was just reacting in the way normal human beings did in the case of inviting a man with a metal arm and a gun into her apartment and saying to them, ‘ _ make yourself at home _ .’

 

Yeah, she really was itching to open the bottles of scotch and pretend the last 12 hours hadn’t just happened.

 

She left the bottle of scotch for Jess outside her apartment, she had knocked but there was no answer from inside.

 

She slowly pulled out her keys, taking every possible extra second before having to see James again. Of course, fate, having decided that they hated Ann Cara Carver with a  _ passion _ , sped things up a bit, the door opening so fast, Ann found herself face-planting into a 6 foot tall wall of pure  _ muscle _ .

 

She was dragged inside by said wall and the door was closed quickly, but silently. Ann still had her face in muscle because she thought that it was better than having to face the person that the muscle belonged to.

 

She was pushed back from muscle and her back relaxed into the cool wall, made of plaster and drywall, this time. She finally opened her eyes, and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as James moved farther away from her. She let the grocery bags fall from her hands and slide to the floor.

 

“Hey.” She said, because she couldn’t be bother to  _ brain _ at that time and place for a better greeting.

 

James grunted in response. 

 

She moved slowly, grabbing the bags of the floor and slowly started putting everything in their places around the apartment. She pretended not to notice how his eyes followed her movements nor the fact that he made sure that his back was never to her.

 

She left the movie on the counter, rolling up the bags and placing them into a caddy for them, she couldn’t really bear to throw them away, her slight guilt at pollution playing a part in her action.

 

“So,” she started the silence slowly eating away at her, “wanna watch a movie?” she waved the movie case around, she got a slow blink in response.

 

Right… “I’m gonna take that as a ‘sure, I would love to!’” she moved to the television and DVD player and turned both on, loading the DVD in. 

 

She sat on the couch, looking over her shoulder to look at James. “Come on. The chair can’t be that comfortable.” 

 

She patted the seat across from her as he got up, moving rigidly to sit down. His back was ramrod straight, not touching the back of the couch.

 

“That can’t be any better.” She pushed down on his chest, ignoring how hard the muscles were underneath her hands. He resisted at first, tensing even more before seeming to realize that she wasn’t trying to hurt her, and moving the way she wanted to.

 

“World War II,” the narrator's voice started, old movie clips showing the members of the Howling Commandos in action played over the screen, “The original seven members under Captain Steve Rogers brought down…”

 

Ann got distracted from watching as she saw James tense, his eyes fixed to the screen. His metal hand dug into the edge of the worn couch and he seemed to lean closer to the screen.

 

“...although the majority of the 107th division of the SSR were of American nationality, there were British and French members, James Montgomery Falsworth and Jacques Dernier-”

 

“Stop.” James whispered, and Ann nearly leapt up from her seat, fumbling for the remote to turn off the television. The screen went dark and Ann turned back to see James, his nose bleeding and his flesh hand went to wipe up the blood, pulling back to stare at it in shok, almost as if he didn’t expect it.

 

“James.” Her voice was soft but it cut through the silence like a knife. He flinched, his breathing coming faster and more ragged with breath. Ann risked it, coming to sit on the floor in front of him, her hands coming to rest on each on his knees.   
  


“James. James, breathe.” she said firmly, surprising even herself at how calm she sounded. His eyes were wide when he looked at her, his breathing not stopping it’s wild and ragged way. She pulled his hands onto her chest, breathing deeply, “James, breathe with me.”

 

She took another deep breathe, James slowly bring his breathing down to match hers. She rested her forehead against his, “you’re fine. You’re alright.”

 

She didn’t move and he didn’t either. She remembered her father and how sometimes he was start freaking out over the smallest of things, her mother dropping everything to come to his side and help him breathe.  _ PTSD _ , her mother had told her,  _ from war.  _ They didn’t talk about it much, afterwards her parents would lock themselves into their room for nearly hours at a time, and then come out and pretend nothing happened. She tried to hear what happened in the room but it was always silent, until her father’s voice murmured something. They would walk out soon after.

 

It was obvious that James had some form of it, and she kept her mouth shut, knowing that he needed to regroup in his head. He didn’t push her away so she stayed still, waiting for him to talk or something.

 

“I…” his voice shook, “I-I don’t reme-remember everything.” he didn’t continue and Ann relaxed her grip on his hands.

 

“It’s alright.” she said, leaning back to stare at him only to be tugged back, her head resting into between his left shoulder and neck, resisting the urge to shiver at the chill of the metal. “You don’t have to tell me, if you’re not ready.”

 

He didn’t say a word afterward, just nuzzling her hair. He let go after a few minutes, she moved away a second later, sitting on his side, his hands firmly hold her hands, quietly pleading for the contact. She gave a squeeze of her hands, his hair shifting so she couldn’t see his face.


	3. Fragments and Missions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Barnes does not need anyone. He needs himself.

She was woken up by a scream, a blood-curdling scream emanating from the bedroom. So she stumbled into the room, her eyes being forced open and she gripped the edge of the bed, knowing better than to touch James; he could easily snap her in half.

 

“James. Wake up. It’s just a nightmare.” she spoke in a low voice, inching closer to the immobile body occupying the bed. The screams turned into whimpers, and Ann took a chance, gripping James’ flesh hand.

 

He gripped her hand tightly, his other hand wrapping around her wrist. She winced, knowing it was definitely going to bruise. “James. You’re alright. It’s just a nightmare.” he seemed to hear her, the hand around her wrist relaxing just a bit. He let out a shuddering breath and she shifted, sitting down on the bed.

 

She didn’t know how long they stayed that way, but her eyes drifted closed and she leaned over, resting on James’ leg. _Just a second…_

 

* * *

 

  


The next she knew the sunlight from her window was making her squint. She tried raising an arm to block it from her eyes but it was stuck… both her hands were stuck in an almost vise grip of two hands, one glinting silver, the other flesh.

 

His eyes were open, staring at her and their linked hands. “Hi.” she said, her mind blanking on whatever else to say. He blinked, meeting her eyes. “You had a nightmare, I came in to, uh, help.”

 

He nodded and let go of her hands. She pulled back, and stood up, stretching. “You can, uh, take a shower.” she gestured to the open bathroom door. He blinked, slowly this time, almost like he didn’t understand what _shower_ meant.

 

She sighed, closing her eyes, “come on. Let’s get you in the shower.”

 

It was relatively easy to get him into the bathroom, stripping down to his underwear, not so much. He went commando. Let’s backtrack, he had _no underwear on_. And he didn’t seem to have any problem with being naked in front of her.

 

“Umm,” she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to _un_ see _that_ , “I gonna get you some underwear.” she backpedaled out of the room quickly, digging through her coslet to find the box of clothes an ex-boyfriend had left.

 

She found two pairs of boxers and grabbed them, making her way into the bathroom her eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling as she handed a pair to James. He put them on after a second of wondering what to do with it.

 

After he had covered up the important bits that Ann did _not_ need to see she had turned on the shower, James flinching when it hit the bathtub.

 

Ann adjusted the temperature of the water, keeping it just this side of warm, and she motioned to him to step in the bathtub. He hesitated, before stepping over the lip of the tub.

 

“This,” she gestured to the shampoo, “goes in your hair. And that,” she pointed to the conditioner, “goes in your hair afterwards.”

 

He blinked at her, and she rolled her eyes, reaching for the shampoo. She pushed him into the spray of water, and got some of the liquid into her palm, and slathered his hair in the shampoo. He seemed to enjoy it, his eyes closed and his head tipping back to let the water drip away from his face and down his back.

 

His shoulder, the flesh one, only had a pink scar left over from the red angry gash from the day before and the line between metal and flesh on the other shoulder was scarred, some of them pink and bumpy, while others were thin faint white lines.

 

Ann used the shampoo twice, some form of compassion wanting to relax James just for a while more. She finally grabbed the conditioner and rubbed it into the ends of his hair, wiping the rest over his scalp.

 

She gripped the bar of soap, wiping it over his back, skipping over the scars and metal, wiping away grime and dirt with each swipe. She gave it to his hand, letting him do his chest.

 

She stepped out of the bathtub, her top soaked through and her shorts sticking to her skin from the spray of water. Ann left James to his own devices in the shower, moving to the bed to change her clothes and comb her hair into less of a mess.

 

The shower turned off after a while, and she placed some clothes for James on the bed, closing the door as she went to the kitchen because, as much as she wanted to help James, _boundaries_.

 

She opened her fridge and rolled her eyes, stressed-out-binge-buying Ann got the worst things, forgetting the eggs and buying 4 pounds of fresh strawberries as well as 2 containers of pop ’n bake cinnamon rolls. But as a slightly less stressed-out Ann, or she was just getting used to the continuous level of stress, she just decided that cinnamon rolls with cut up strawberries was the way to go.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Known name: Ann Carver

 

Threat level: 3

 

Usefulness: 8

 

Current mission: standby fo--

 

James shook his head, it was so easy to fall back into the Mindset, to let his programming take control, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he had to leave HYDRA. They said he was changing the world for the better but he knew that was a lie. It had to be, because… he nearly growled in frustration. He had these morals coming through from somewhere deep inside him but couldn’t remember why he had them and if he focused on them, tried to find them, they disappeared and left him in the dark.

 

They flitted away quickly, but last night, when the screen turned on and started words started coming at him, making pieces of his shattered mind men themselves, it hurt, more than that god awful chair, more than the daggers and knives that dug into his flesh when they woke him up but it came with a clarity. He remembered, not everything, not even a little piece, but a sliver, memories of laughter, his division, and then the feeling of falling and cold and pain, it hurt even more, if that was possible. He barely was able to whisper stop, but Ann had heard him and turned it off.

 

The silence and darkness broke the newly built memories apart or at least it allowed him to push them away into the deepest dark corner of his mind. It shattered him even more but then Ann was there, whispering comforting nothings to him, giving him whatever it was he needed to rebuild himself.

 

She hadn’t used the moment of weakness to disable him, she had even repaired his weap-- his arm, she helped with both his arms.

 

He didn’t know what bubbled up inside of him that made him say his name was James. His mis-- the man on the bridge, said his name was Bucky. But it wasn’t not anymore.

 

He found middle ground at James, not the Asset, not Bucky but something that made him breathe a little deeper, hear a little harder for a hint of homemade soap in the air, a whisper of giggles from behind him. It just made his chest ache even more, shattered the fragments of who he was, who he is, and who he will be.

 

He did not need Ann, she was something he could afford to lose, an unneeded commodity that let him breathe a little easier, but he could not lose focus, he needed to get away from HYDRA and the man on the bridge until he knew more, gathered more intel, and… and found himself.

 

He did not need Ann.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okieeeee... This got dark and serious quickly. 
> 
> I tried to make it funny but it didn't flow well and I scrapped that idea quickly. I know it's a little short but it's finals season so school sucks.
> 
> Stay in school kiddos! (even though the teachers may rip out your heart and feed it to their evil death dog they keep behind their desk... I mean, what? the teachers are the best part)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
